Archive of Our Own

Sid pulls his pajama pants down, low on his hips, and inspects himself in the mirror. 

His V-lines are intact, even if fat settles in his mid-section easier these days. Hair lightly trails down from his bellybutton. He moves his hips from side-to-side, rolling, testing the motion. If he gets his way, he’ll need to be warm.

Sid doesn’t — didn’t — think of himself as a sexual being. Growing up, his body was for hockey. He jacked off, fooled around, all of that, but it was secondary, tertiary, not even on the same scale as his sport. Talking about girls, about fucking them, kissing them, swapping them between each other, Hey, what’cha think of this one? — Sid found that those comments were easy to mimic, and that the expectations were different for him, like always. His teammates didn’t expect him to pull like they did of others. He was Creature, an anomaly, and so what, as long as he blushed pink when they asked about which girls were in his phone.

So hockey was, and continued to be, everything. His only evaluator. Sid didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. He was attractive, sure, but everyone seemed to entertain his efforts simply because he was Sidney Crosby. Romance fell by the wayside, like everything else did, and after he settled into the league and out of his teenage years, his awkwardness around desire settled into him like a second skin.

He got older. They all did, and married, and cheated, and continued on being boys in men's bodies. He watched from the sidelines, dating here and there, never getting anywhere. They were nice and respectful, and they all missed an edge.

You’d date a skate blade if you could, Army had said.

Then, he watched as Geno beat a player to a pulp after boarding Sid. It cut just as sharp.

Sid watched Geno marry. Guilt spoiled in his stomach when he realized nothing, not even a ring, would make that feeling fade.

Denial impedes progress, so he accepted it and tampered it down. He forgot what life was like before Geno’s presence, standing a million feet tall, bringing out bursts of laughter and a warmth in his bones. Forgotten what it was like to wait, firm and confident, that Geno would find his way to the NHL because he promised. Devotion is at Geno’s core: when he said he’d give something to Sid, he always did.

So Sid continued to treasure broken English and a big, lazy grin. He tried not to jerk off about it, tried hard to keep his thoughts to faceless bodies, but broad hands twisted into Geno’s hands, his forearms, his bracelets around his wide wrist.

With this acceptance came a truth — Geno would continue his life, fucking and feeling, and Sid would watch.

Sid looks in the mirror again. Rolls his hips again.

But every summertime, when he got away from Pittsburgh and everything that comes with it, hope seeped in. Maybe there was a chance, in between Geno’s porn preferences and his affections, sprawled out over articles and media access, over nearly two decades. When Sid felt especially selfish, he’d admit to himself, and betray Geno a little in doing so, that the divorce was about him.

Sid hadn’t realized how much hope there was until Geno kissed him square on the mouth four months ago. He’d started laughing, of course he had, and Geno frowned, and turned away, and started muttering Not nice, Sid, and Sid pulled him back in and kissed him again.

Sid isn’t naturally exceptional at anything that isn’t hockey, so he’s not a naturally good boyfriend. There’s been close to forty years of his life just being him and the ice. He forgets to stop talking about their power play, or how the Islanders look, or if he should change his curve, and should he? It’s been a while since he did, and what did Geno think of that?

But he learns Geno is a good sport, has been one this entire time, because he only nags Sid to shut up when he can tell Sid is working himself up over close to nothing.

Geno — Geno is really good. He never touches Sid’s things, and when he does he asks first. He’s attentive,  buys the right brands listed on their newly shared grocery list, just how Sid likes it. He doesn’t let their new development bleed onto the ice. He kisses Sid goodnight, all gentlemanly in a way that affirms to Sid that at least one of them knows what he’s doing. Not that Sid would have ever, ever pinned Geno for being a gentleman. In fact, he has direct evidence of the opposite, which makes the whole thing more soppy.

So now Sid wants to be a good boyfriend. A really good one, like how girls are good girlfriends. They dress up and seduce and keep things interesting. He likes viewing it that way, like something he can improve at forever, discover new techniques with his tongue, new things that make Geno lose it, raggedly mouthbreathing until he cums down Sid’s throat.

He starts taking notes. Studying. There’s an extensive list in his phone, categorized by clothing, sex, food, and extraneous. It’s the craziest he’s felt in a while. He hadn’t realized how long it’s been since he’s really worked at something outside of hockey.

Most of his hobbies are just that — bits and pieces of interest to pass the time. Expensive cameras he doesn’t know how to use quite right, a bird-watching app that sits dormant in his cloud most of the time. This project with Geno, this is more than that. It feels like a calling.

Sid rolls his hips one more time for good measure. Flexes his abs, sniffs his armpits, which thankfully still smell of Old Spice. He braces himself and hopes his observations have paid off.

When he pads down the stairs, Geno is slumped comfortably against Sid’s large, white monstrosity of a couch. Sid feels a little possessive — Geno is in his house, on his couch. He’s Sid’s now, and it feels like winning every award he can remember all over again. Maybe not the Cup, but maybe close.

He breathes in, hoping to not feel very silly, and breathes out. “Hey, baby.”

Geno looks up sleepily, then shakes himself awake. “Sid?”

A lopsided grin tugs at his mouth. “Your one and only.”

Geno scoffs. “So corny, but so sexy. I forgive.”

“Corny?” Sid jokes, making his way over to the couch, settling down on top of Geno’s thighs. “Here I go, making an effort, and you call me corny.”

Geno’s eyes light up and his hands land on Sid’s hips. “Big effort, yes. Pull favorite sweatpants down, no shirt, very slutty.”

“Eh, I’m not a slut.” The idea sparks something in him, though. “Too old.”

Thumbs make sweet, devastating circles against his hip bones. “Not too old, Sid. Still be slut.”

He grins again, pride swelling in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Geno confirms. “Look very good like this, I’m think, like, wow.”

Wow. “Really?” It sounds small, embarrassing, coming out of his mouth. But he hasn’t wanted anything in such a long time, and now he chokes on the weight of his desire all the time.

“Really, yes. Have sexy boyfriend in my lap, I’m like, yes. So what he want, hm?” The circles become more insistent, and Sid starts move, back and forth, in Geno’s lap. “Tell me, I’m give.”

“It’s a surprise.”

Geno plasters on shock. “Surprise? This already surprise.”

Annoyance flickers. “Oh, such a surprise I’m looking good, eh?”

Geno rolls his eyes and Sid is secretly thrilled. “No. You know you always look good, look best. I’m surprise you’re like, so forward, like so…” He gestures to Sid in his lap. “So want.”

Sid takes the moment to kiss him, long and slow, poking his tongue in where he can. Geno tastes like sea salt and vinegar. He bites at Geno’s lip, pulling him closer, and Geno’s hands begin running wild, yanking Sid forward, tumbling into each other. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, until Sid’s sure that his cheeks are bright red and his sweatpants are too tight.

This is his favorite position, he thinks. His favorite place in the world: flush up against Geno, in his lap, shuddered in and surrounded by Geno’s broad shoulders, his extra inches. Sid rarely feels small, shouldering his weight well, his center of gravity low. He’s never wanted to feel small before this. It’s sweet and foreign on his tongue.

Sid breaks them apart, breath hot. “Feel like a teenager,” he confesses.

Geno groans. “Don’t even talk ‘bout  it.”

“What?” Sid asks, smiling. He presses his lips against Geno’s again. “Huh?”

“It’s like… I’m think of you, like, jailbait.”

Sid wacks him. “Don’t get off on me like that, perv.”

“I’m one year older, not like, gross old man.”

“You are,” Sid insists. “And so am I.”

“Hm,” Geno considers. “I like.”

“Yeah?” Sid asks, and Geno answers beautifully by kissing down the column of Sid’s neck, all warm and wet. He sucks, nips his teeth, and Sid gasps. “No marks.”

“I’m leave,” Geno says, sounding like he’s heard it before. He sucks again.

“G,” Sid groans, and his protests fade into pleasure. He cradles the back of Geno’s head, holding him close, and rocks again, back and forth. His eyes flutter close, losing himself to the feeling of Geno’s possession on his skin.

They stay like that, until they can’t anymore, because Sid has plans and at this rate he’ll come in his pants. “Hey, hey,” he says, guiding Geno away from his neck. “Let’s go upstairs, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Geno agrees.

Sid peels himself off, trusting Geno to follow him, swaying his ass as he heads back up the stairs. He feels ridiculous, showing off like that, until he feels Geno’s hands grab at him and grins as he swats him away.

He doesn’t feel like himself at all, a man’s eager and greedy hands trying to pull him close, but it feels like everything he’s wanted to be: tempting, sexy, desirable. He feels twenty again. He feels alive.

Sid flounces onto the bed, settling back against his pillows, and just like that, Geno is on him again. Sid grabs at his shirt in between kisses — off, off — and then Geno’s chest is bare, and Sid nips at his collarbones. They’ve both softened with age, but God, Geno still looks — “So fucking good,” Sid says.

Geno answers by grabbing Sid’s chin and kissing him.

Then, Sid’s shirt is shucked, and everything is running away from him, but it feels so good, and Geno is kissing his torso, leaving damning marks across his stomach. His hands knead at Sid’s ass, and Sid bucks up against the air, desperate for friction.

Geno kisses down Sid’s right thigh, licking and biting a spit-ridden trail, and Sid thinks, Thank fuck, his dick is going to get sucked.

But Geno continues down, past his dick, past the round lump of his kneecap, and onto his calves. Sid’s glad he stretched, because Geno lifts his leg up, up, up and bites hard on the thick muscle. “I’m going eat you,” he says, low. 

Sid means to laugh, but instead he just breathes out, “Okay.”

The kisses continue, down his fibula, to his ankle joint. Geno makes a bracelet of bites and kisses there, so reverent. Maybe this is how girls feel. Geno looks up with his big, dumb eyes, glinting. Sid raises his eyebrows, and Geno takes it as the invitation it is, moving his right hand up from Sid’s ankle.

Sid jerks as Geno's thumb rubs along the bottom of Sid’s heel. “Is this gross?” Sid asks, forgetting his plan to be alluring and sexy. “Like, ah, are they dirty?”

Geno shrugs, then answers by popping Sid’s big toe into his mouth. Sid feels his eyes widen, the same way he feels Geno’s tongue poke around his toe. Then, horrifyingly, Geno starts sucking. 

“Jesus,” Sid whispers. “Wha – G, what?”

But Geno doesn’t take the bait, just continues sucking and tonguing and then, his big hands are pressing into Sid’s arch, and Sid’s back involuntarily leaves the bed. He vows to shut up then, but little groans keep slipping between his lips. Sid pulls his leg back, trying to get away, scared of how good it feels, but Geno is there, pulling him closer by his foot. Sid twitches at the pressure on the ball of his foot.

Geno pops off. “Still, yeah? Like, be still, Sid.”

Sid looks at him: his mouth is red and blotchy, his cheeks are flushed, his thinning hair is in disarray. So Sid nods, instead of saying something fucking ridiculous like marry me.

But instead of going back to his big toe, Geno slides his flat tongue across all of Sid’s foot, down to his heel, which he bites.

“Fuck – fuck,” Sid says, squirming around until Geno grabs Sid’s other leg and props it up on his own shoulder. Then, before Sid can think, three of his toes are in Geno’s mouth. Hot and wet and messy, and Sid’s pushing his other foot into the meat of Geno’s shoulder, down, stay down, right there.

Someone’s touching his dick, he’s touching his own dick, high off of the warmth of Geno’s mouth and the disgusting devotion it takes to do what they’re doing. But he doesn’t want to come like this, in his own hand, he had plans, he had —

“G,” he murmurs. “Geno, Geno, ple — Geno, come on.”

Geno lowers Sid’s right foot from his mouth. Sid can see the spit dripping down the edges of his foot, catching in the light. “Come on,” he urges again.

“Greedy, greedy Sid,” he chides, Sid’s name sounding like Seet. Geno sits up on his haunches, dick tenting in his sweats.“What you want, hm?”

Sid tentatively sticks his foot out, pressing it against Geno’s cock. “This,” he says, voice graveled with desire. “I wan’ta ride you.”

Geno’s eyebrows shoot up. They haven’t done that before. “Yes?”

Sid laughs and presses his foot down harder. Geno groans through it, rocking his hips in an attempt to chase a brief release. “Yeah,” Sid answers, out of breath, “gonna give it to you so good.”

“So good, love it, want you,” Geno says. Some competitive thrill shoots through Sid — it’s him Geno wants, not Anna, not any of those Russian models in his Instagram DMs, not anyone else in the entire world. Geno wants Sid so badly that he’s panting up against Sid’s foot, not caring how it looks. Wanting Sid so badly he can’t see anything outside of them.

Sid pulls his foot away, earning him a groan from Geno. “Come on. You want it? Come up here then, yeah?”

Geno is so, so easy, so of course he goes, stripping off his sweats, his boxers, down to nothing. He settles at the top of his bed, legs spanning a million years, dick hard and leaking. Sid licks his lips, taking Geno’s earlier position. 

“How you want to get ready?” Geno asks. “I’m open, or you –”

Sid bites his lip, proud. “I’m ready for you.”

“Huh?”

His hands pull at the ratty sweatpants, revealing his trimmed hair, his aching dick, and tracing his fingers back to the meat of his ass, his prepped hole. He feels dirty, acting like this, knowing that Geno will know he fingerfucked himself open as a present for Geno, like he knew Geno had an especially hard day at work, and Sid was going to make it all better.

Maybe that’s what he wanted, though. To make it all better for Geno, forever.

“I’m ready for you,” he repeats, straddling Geno’s broad, tanned thighs. He can see the cutoff of his shorts, marked onto his skin from the sun. He wets two fingers in his mouth and traces over the line with spit.

“Je-sus, okay. Get lube? Get lube, God, so good, Sid.”

So he does, popping it open and mixing it in with Geno’s precum, up and down and up and down. Geno lets out the nicest noises, eyes trained on Sid’s hand sliding across his dick like he can’t believe it’s happening, still. It makes Sid feel treasured, then irritated, because the point of this exercise is to show Geno that he’s a sure thing.

He then takes one of Geno’s hands and drizzles lube across his fingertips. “You wanna feel?”

“Fuck,” Geno murmurs, then hoists Sid up and over so he can trace his hole. The touch is cold, but good, and Sid pushes back into it greedily. “So good, so hot, how you know? How you real?”

“Real and all yours.” Sid looks up at Geno through his lashes, mouth dropped.

“Mine.” Geno’s breathing heavies, loud and through his mouth, and Sid wants to swallow every molecule of air out of his lungs.

“Yours,” he affirms. “Let me show you.”

Geno nods and Sid hoists himself back up, lining himself up. The head of Geno’s cock nudges in between his ass cheeks, and for once, Sid wishes they were filming this, so he could see it from the back. Maybe they’ll buy a mirror. Maybe they’ll build a sex dungeon. Maybe Sid’s going insane from dick teasing his hole.

“Okay,” he says, “okay, here we go.”

“We go,” Geno repeats, eyes trained on Sid’s thighs, his dick, Geno’s own through the gap between his legs.

Sid raises and then sinks down. He gasps, folding forward and grabbing onto Geno’s pec, massaging it like it’ll fix the deep burn he’s feeling. But it burns good. He slides back more, leverages his body to take Geno down, inch by inch. Geno’s mumbling curses in Russian, all of which Sid has picked up in the locker room. Fuck, yeah, fuck, so good.

He sits back when his ass is flush to Geno. He feels full, stuffed, and starts grinding his hips to stretch himself out further. He’s thankful he warmed up. It's more, so much more, than he could’ve guessed and this might replace doggy as his favorite position. 

Geno’s looking at him like he’s God, mouth dropped open, spit coating his lips. “Good?”

“Good,” Sid replies, “so good, like, ah, I’m gonna, can I go?”

Geno scoffs, but it's strained. “You insane. Can do whatever you want to me.”

“Want you,” Sid chokes out nonsensically. “Want your— fuck, big, stupid dick in me.”

“In you, yeah, fuck, in you,” Geno answers, equally as nonsensical. Sid lifts himself up, his thighs shaking a little, and drops back again, moving his hips now, properly, wildly, just like he watched in the videos he studied to get this just right. “Fuck, Sid, так хорошо, я тебя люблю, так хорошо.”

Oh, Sid thinks through the fog of lust, We’re already to Russian. He cants his hips, rocking back and forth, moaning through the fullness. “So fucking good, fuck me, oh my God.”

Geno’s hands are grabbing then, setting Sid’s pace, his hips thrusting up, and Sid feels like a doll, like something designed to keep Geno warm, and it feels so fucking good to give him what he wants, that all that’s making it out of his mouth is ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.

They’re both sweating, shoving closer together, and Sid wants to cum, and then wants to let Geno use him. “Touch me,” he pants out. “Fucking, hand.”

He hisses when Geno gets his hand on his dick, rough and warm, and then gasps as Geno spits straight on the tip. “So hot, fuck so good Sid, so talent, big,” Geno rambles on, working Sid over, and Sid wants to feel this full forever, this warm and loved and touched and — he tips over the edges, suddenly, sharply, and crumples over onto Geno’s chest.

They lay there only for a minute before Geno gets restless and Sid starts mouthing at his skin, sucking on his nipple. 

“Sid,” Geno begs, pained.

“Трахни меня,” Sid demands, practiced, and Geno grabs him by the back and flips them over, also practiced, before pounding back into Sid. He wraps his legs around him, pulling Geno closer, and he’s sensitive, everything is, but it feels so fucking good to have Geno fuck into him that he doesn’t care. “Use me, come on, take it baby, come on, G.”

Geno just grunts back, focused on fucking, focused on cumming.

Sid tilts his head back and goes limp, so Geno grabs his legs and holds them up for him. His head is swimming, his body is on fire, he’s squirming around, but Geno anchors him, holds him still, and rocks them back and forth together.

“Cum in me,” Sid manages. “Want it, want it so bad, come on, do it baby, fill me up.”

Geno leans in, fucking in harder, faster, and Sid lifts his shoulder blades off of the bed to lick a long stripe up Geno’s stubble before kissing him. The kiss breaks with the movement, and they’re panting in each other’s mouths, and Sid feels so good he starts seeing stars.

Then, Geno’s pace stutters, and he groans, and Sid can feel his cum painting his insides. He collapses on top, just siding on too heavy, but Sid loves him, so he just closes his eyes and thumbs Geno’s chain.

Eventually, he pulls out, and Sid whines. He wonders how long they could stay interlocked — maybe if he stuck Geno in front of the computer and let him play whatever game, Sid could sit on his cock, nice and still, and fall asleep. Maybe Geno wants him enough to have him on his dick all the time, now that he knows Sid wants it like that too.

They both lie there, lazy with bliss.

“What was that for?” Geno finally asks, head pressed on top of Sid’s chest. Sid cards through Geno’s hair, swirling his fading curls into strange patterns.

“I just wanted to,” he answers, unsure of how to explain.

“Very nice.”

“I’m sure, bud.”

“No like,” Geno tilts his head up, big cow eyes staring at Sid. “I’m like when you this way. Very confident, very like, Sid going to get what he wants. I’m always want to give you what you want.”

Sid hums and guides Geno’s head back to a resting spot so he can gather up his courage. He asks, tentative, “And you want me?”

Geno kisses his chest gingerly. “Of course, Sidya. Want for, like, ten million year. Wait around, silly Geno, don’t you want small pond? Don’t you want to be like, main guy? Kapitan?” He shakes his head and leaves another tender kiss, the touch so soft that Sid’s heart breaks. “No, I want Sid. Always, I want Sid.”

“Oh,” Sid says smartly.

“Yes, is big surprise for you. Good thing I’m so much brains.”

“Good thing,” he replies, softly. Sid kisses the crown of Geno’s head. “A real good thing.”